“We’re running out of time,” said Lisa.
“What say we hurry up and win this thing,” said Ramos.
Episode Nine / Chapter One
Asher stood just inside the mouth of the cave, one shoulder set comfortably against the rock wall, his arms folded across his chest. Inside the cave behind him, the others sat around a small campfire, their shadows reflecting as shifting silhouettes on the cavern walls.
In the world beyond, the night was near black, wet with a gentle but persistent rain. Moisture dripping from leaves and branches throughout the world, out there in the dark, created a continuous thrumming sound.
Susan Bautista stepped up beside him. She looked into the night.
“I don’t think the rain is going to stop,” she said.
“I think you’re right,” said Asher. He pushed off from the wall. He was protected from the rain by the overhang above him, but there was a light breeze blowing in and he could feel the moisture on his face. “But I’ll take it.”
Susan agreed. And yet, “It’s still out there, Peter. This is but a short reprieve.”
“And I’ll take it,” Asher repeated.
“Yes…” she said, glancing behind them at the others in the cave. “We were lucky to find shelter.”
Asher smirked. “I put nothing that happens in here to luck.”
“You think we were led here?”
“I think we were intended to find it.”
Susan thought about that. She wasn’t sure Peter was right, but she gave him a thin smile. “I’ll take it,” she said.
§
Owen sat in the wooden chair. It had a straight back and gently curved arms. The floor beneath her feet was black, smooth, stretched into empty black in all directions. There was nothing above her.
She held out a hand, reached out. She could just see it. There was a world out there, gray and wet; a flickering light in the distance. A campfire? She believed so.
And there… Peter. He was standing at the mouth of a cave. The campfire was in the cave behind him. And there was the rest of the team.
A sound then… again that horrible sound… and then the vision was ripped from her; yet again.
She was alone in the black. She gripped the arms of the chair; waited for it. The visions rushed at her, swept past her, floor before floor before floor, reaching back the way she had come, the way they had come, waves that washed away space and time swept across the floors, leaving in their wake… nothing.
There… the team was just ahead of that nothing… running, running, rushing from floor to floor. They stumbled into a field that was enclosed on all sides by a thick, dark forest. They hurried across to the wall of trees on the opposite side. Quinn had been with them then.
Quinn saw Owen. She was standing just in the tree line, off to the left. He looked back behind them, then up ahead to Sgt. Costa. She was leading the way, slowing as she reached the trees. She stepped aside and waved the others through. She looked at Quinn.
Quinn looked from Costa to Dr. Owen. Owen was holding out a hand, beckoning.
It was time.
Quinn understood. He took only a moment, slowed and drifted left… toward Owen.
“Lieutenant,” called Costa.
Lieutenant Quinn ignored her.
Behind him… the sound… that horrific sound… eating the world.
“Sir, please!” Costa took a single step forward.
Quinn reached Dr. Owen.
Sgt. Costa watched as the running figure of her lieutenant transformed into an opaque cloud and then quickly dissipated.
§
Elizabeth Owen sat alone in the dark. The wooden chair had a straight back and curved arms. The floor beneath her feet was black, smooth, stretched away into the void…
§
Susan came out of the cave with a cup of thick broth and handed it to Asher, who was still standing watch at the entrance. He smiled a silent thank you and took a tentative sip.
Not bad. He took a deeper swig.
“Nice to not eat on the run,” he said, took another swallow.
“Thirteen floors in five days,” said Susan. She shrugged a shoulder. “I’ve been keeping track.”
“Uh, huh. And whatever that is following right behind us all the way.” They had been chased by this phenomenon going all the way back to the neighborhood floor. It was always a bit different, but it was always the same thing; a wave of nothing sweeping across the landscape.
“Dr. Church was describing it as the absence of space and time.”
“I heard,” said Asher. “That’s what it leaves behind. But what is it?”
“It reminds me of a weather front.”
“Portending one helluva weird storm.” He finished his broth, stared absently down into the empty cup. “Not bad.”
“It’s the last of it.”
“About the last of everything,” said Asher. “Not much time for shopping these days.”
“Speak of the devil.” Susan said darkly. She was looking at the distant horizon beyond the trees.
“Damn. Waddya think? Coupla’ hours?”
Susan half turned and spoke back into the cave. “Uh, Sergeant Costa? Would you come out here, please?”
§
Sgt. Miller followed Captain Adamson into the Quonset hut and quickly pulled the door closed behind him, shutting out the violent storm that was continuing to rage outside. They were both soaked through. The heavy rain beat down hard on the corrugated metal shell of the command center, creating a loud, deep thrumming sound.
Miller pulled at his wet clothes as he took in the room.
Adamson had already reached General Wong and Major Connelly over at the coffee counter. Johansen and Carmody were sitting at the radio station, and Dr. Banister and Dr. Lake were at the round table in the middle of the room.
“I’m afraid we’re all out of dry towels, Sergeant,” said Banister.
“That’s all right, Doctor. I’ll make do.”
Carmody could see that there was nothing new and so turned back to Johansen. He flipped a switch and set the receiver in the cradle.
Another comm window come and gone.
He spun slowly about in his chair, saw that Adamson and Miller were back. Miller had moved over to the corner, had taken off his shirt and was wringing it out.
“Looks like no change,” Johansen said to Carmody.
Carmody nodded in the direction of Adamson. “I expect that’s what the captain’s telling the general.”
Johansen looked about the room. The Quonset hut was small, would have been crowded all by itself with just a table, a couple of desks and counters. Bring eight people inside and a pounding storm outside, and Johansen was one more claustrophobic sardine in the can.
Not that there was a choice. The storm had been extremely destructive. Dark, intense rain and violent winds had been beating at them non-stop for a week. All the tents were gone. Moving about outdoors was dangerous. The command team was confined to this last small structure.
Johansen looked up at Carmody, then again at the others in the room.
Miller had put his wet shirt back on, walked over to the coffee counter. Adamson and the general moved aside to allow him access, continued their discussion as Major Connelly listened in. The doctors meanwhile were in their own conversation at the table.
Everything seemed okay.
Yet something was off; something beyond the unrelenting storm outside and the command team waiting it out here in the Quonset hut.
Johansen had yet to make contact with the team inside the tower, but that wasn’t new.
There had been no word from Doctor Owen for almost a week. Again, that wasn’t new.
So what was bugging him?
He tried to shake it off.
But he couldn’t.
Over at the coffee counter, Captain Adamson slowly lowered his cup. He hadn’t yet taken a drink. He looked studiously about the room, a look of unease on his face.
Wong an
d Adamson had quit talking. They were both looking in Johansen’s direction. Wong looked then to Carmody, to Banister and Lake, then uneasily, uncertainly about the room.
Okay… obviously not just me, thought Johansen. The world is wrong.
“Hey, Johansen…” Carmody said, more than a hint of quiet worry.
“Yeah. Yeah, I know…”
Episode Nine / Chapter Two
Elizabeth Owen walked the long, wide hall at a comfortable, casual stride. The way was bordered on both sides by towering Roman style columns spaced two paces apart. Darkness lay beyond the columns and hovered overhead as a dark shell over the world. The floor shimmered bright black and her footfalls echoed out away from her before fading into a dull, soundless nothing.
She had been walking a long time; thinking about that, it struck her that she couldn’t remember what she had been doing before she had been walking this hall.
She had been walking the hall for as long as she could remember.
How odd…
The corridor stretched ahead of her as far as she could see. She slowed and glanced back over her shoulder. She saw only the column-lined way stretching away behind her… as far as she could see.
She faced forward again and returned to her easy pace. She continued on for what seemed to her like a very long time.
And then up ahead, far up ahead… there was something there, something at the corridor’s vanishing point on the horizon.
As she drew nearer, she could see that the hall ended at a massive set of double doors standing twice her height.
Nearer still, she saw that a figure stood before the great doors.
It was the Acolyte. He was dressed as a monk, or rather as Owen’s interpretation of how a monk would dress; heavy, hooded robe tied at the waist with a thin rope.
“Welcome, Doctor Owen,” said the Acolyte. He pushed back the hood. “I am so glad you could make it.”
"How could I not? I mean, really. How could I not?”
“I don’t understand.” It was obvious that he truly did not understand.
“Nevermind.” Looking about, there was only the column-lined corridor and the massive set of doors. “Where am I? Why have I been brought here?”
“The Great Hall.”
Owen looked back the way she had come. Seeing this, the Acolyte smiled amiably and shook his head.
“That is but the corridor, Doctor Owen. The Great Hall lay beyond the doors.”
“Ah. I see. And… why am I here?”
“I’m sorry. I thought that was clear, considering where you are.”
“Not really, no.”
“The Creator of All Things,” stated the Acolyte matter-of-factly.
“Yes?”
The Acolyte reached behind him and gently pushed the left door open a few inches. Dull, gray light shone through the opening.
“I’ll be waiting here for you when you have finished,” he said. He stood patiently waiting, hands clasped, fingers intertwined.
“Oh. Yes.” Owen stared blankly at the slight opening, looked side-glance at the Acolyte. “You’re not going in?”
“My presence was not requested.” He took another step to one side. “Doctor Owen?” he urged.
Owen approached the door. She stopped. “He’s in there?”
“He is seldom anywhere else.”
“I see,” she grumbled uncertainly.
When Owen still hesitated, the Acolyte attempted as best he could to encourage her forward.
“I do not believe he would have brought you before him if the intent was to do you harm, Doctor Owen.”
“Yeah? Just what would lead you to that conclusion?” she asked sardonically.
“Observation only,” said the Acolyte. He had yet to get the whole sarcasm thing. “I consider the path that has been set before you to now.”
“Uh, huh…” Owen pushed the door fully open. “I feel so much better now…”
§
All eight members of command were squeezed around the table in the middle of the room, having pulled up the assortment of desk, counter and table chairs from around the Quonset hut. They had just finished their breakfast, meager half rations from four now-empty packets of MREs that were scattered about the table amongst cups, mugs and water glasses.
“Well, that wasn’t as satisfying as it might have been,” said Banister. “But it could be worse.”
“It soon will be,” said Dr. Lake. Even at half rations, they would be out of food in another day at best. They all knew what the cupboards looked like.
Teams had begun going out into the storm twice each day looking for the strewn contents of the long-gone mess and supply tents. At the time the storm had first swept in, there had been stores of food and cases of packaged MREs in both tents. So far, they had found a few cans and one rain-soaked cardboard box of rations.
And that was about to run out.
“Man, I could really use some coffee,” mumbled Johansen. He picked up his water glass, lifted it in a mocking toast to the group, and took a drink.
“A crisis if ever there was one,” said the general, holding up his own water-filled coffee cup. “Which will be resolved.”
“And best we be about it,” said Captain Adamson. He stood up, and with that so did the others. They set about putting on what foul-weather gear they had; what they had initially brought in or what had been found on their recent searches.
Two teams of three would be heading out. Johansen and Dr. Lake would stay behind to monitor the radio. The two who remained in the command center changed with each search.
Captain Adamson pulled on an olive-drab rain jacket as he walked over to Banister, who was struggling to get into a pair of plastic rain pants. The jacket and pants had both been found on previous excursions.
“You’re with me this trip out, Doctor, if that’s all right.” Adamson held Banister by his elbow to prevent him from falling.
“Thank you, Captain,” said Banister. “Yes, that will be fine.”
Adamson called over to Carmody. “You’re with us, Private.”
“Yes sir.” Carmody was putting on a clear plastic poncho. It looked homemade. There was even duct tape.
General Wong waited at the door for the others of his own team, Connelly and Miller. He glanced over at Adamson.
“You have your mission, Captain,” he stated.
“Yes sir.” Adamson’s team would go to the tower, turn right and follow the base to the first corner, then the second corner, then move away from the tower a hundred yards and return along the same route.
Wong’s team would head for the tower and turn left.
Wong and Adamson both knew how important it was to find supplies soon. They were doing what they could to minimize the dangers in these searches, but they were quickly running out of time.
The rest of Wong’s team joined him at the door. They left without another word.
Carmody joined Banister and Adamson, absently tying twine around her waist to keep the poncho in place.
“You ready?” Adamson asked her.
“Honestly?” she asked with an anxious grin.
Adamson took that as a yes, looked over at Johansen and Lake, standing now near the radio station counter.
“Keep a light on, Corporal.”
“Yes sir.”
Carmody started toward the door, spoke over her shoulder in Johansen’s general direction. “Back in a flash.”
“I’ll be here.” Johansen watched the second team leave.
Lake returned to the table and pulled out a chair. Johansen pushed off the counter.
“Say… Doctor Lake…”
Lake waited a moment, and when Johansen didn’t finish, “Yes?”
“I was just wondering… about the others.”
“What about them? I wouldn’t worry.”
“No, no… not these others. The others.”
“The others,” Lake said thoughtfully. “By others, you also do not refer to those in the tower.”
“No sir.”
“I see.”
“There was a platoon here with us. I remember ‘em. A platoon.”
“And now there’s just the eight of us,” the doctor stated, quite matter-of-factly.
“They were here, with us, and now they’re… not. Am I missing something?”
“No, Corporal. You are not.”
“They were here? Right?”
“I do not believe so.”
“But Doctor Lake, I—”
“Those no longer with us were never really here.”
Johansen sighed, shaking his head tiredly. “Oh, I just knew you were going to say that. I so wish you hadn’t, but I knew it. I just knew it.”
“I do apologize.”
“Yeah, well…” Johansen frowned. “I figure you’re right. It does make you wonder…”
“Ah… you are concerned as to what this might suggest about the rest of us.”
“Yes sir.”
§
Ramos leaned into the iron gates and pushed them open, the sound of screeching hinges reaching out into the silent, eternal night. He stood to one side, his back to the wrought iron bars, and the rest of the team walked into the cemetery. Once inside, he pushed the gates closed and followed after them, now bringing up the rear.
Costa led the way up a tall, grassy slope to the top of a round hilltop. She stopped then and waited for everyone to gather together.
“We’ll take five here.” She slipped out of her backpack and set it down against a nearby tombstone.
The others did the same, and several sat down alongside their gear. Ramos took up watch nearby, Costa walked a few yards off and took in the scene, planning their route across the floor.
The cemetery stretched away to the distant horizon, a succession of low rolling hills illuminated only by a thick, cloudy band of stars sweeping across the night sky. Church stepped up beside her. He was about to ask a question when the sight laid out before them took him aback.
“My. That is quite the view.”
“Yes it is,” she said softly, self-conscious at disturbing the quiet. She looked back the way they had come, beyond the gate that stood at the foot of the slope. It was black beyond the gate and the stone fence that ran to either side of it. For the moment, all was peaceful.
The Black Tower: The Complete Series Page 27